


Stress Test

by Santana2



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: But Mostly Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, yurio's swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santana2/pseuds/Santana2
Summary: Yuuri doesn’t know when he became the stress relief guru of the skating community.Or, four times Yuuri helped another skater with their anxiety and the one time they all paid it forward.





	1. JJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ's breakdown wasn't quite over.

**A/N:** I promised myself I would at least wait until the first season ended. I have earned this. At least that’s what I tell myself in order to sleep at night.

Possible trigger? Depiction of a mild panic attack, so use your judgement friends ;)

Yuri P. is Yurio for this fic for the sake of my sanity, and Viktor is spelled with a ‘k’ because I have no clue what the proper spelling should be and that’s how I started spelling it before ‘Victor’ became the popular way to do so (even though the latter is how I spell it on tumblr? I’m fickle, it would seem). Okay, moving on, please enjoy! This is unbetaed, you have been warned.

* * *

Yuuri’s feet were dragging on his way to the designated changing rooms after the last of the short programs ended and the interviews were over. He was exhausted and not just from his performance. He didn’t want to think anymore today but his brain had other ideas, thoughts pushing for dominance of the front of his mind, all of them persistent but none very pleasant or anything Yuuri had been prepared to deal with today of all days.

Yuuri was also not prepared for the small body hurtling out of the changing room door just as he was about to open it. The skater was forced to stop, nearly dropping his gym bag as Yurio – still half dressed in his _Agape_ costume, the top wrapped around his waist and a t-shirt covering his upper half – almost plowed over him. Yurio stopped, socked feet skidding at the sight of Yuuri, eyes wide and the closest to panicked the older skater had ever seen.

“Yurio?” Yuuri questioned in alarm, “What happened? Are you – “

But Yurio had already grabbed his wrist, interrupting him and babbling loudly in Russian so Yuuri had zero chance of understanding. At the sight of his blank expression, Yurio’s face turned a violent shade of red and he growled as if the nonsense that just came out of his mouth was Yuuri’s fault.

Nevertheless, the teenager got himself under control and said just as quickly, in English, “That asshole, JJ, is having a heart-attack or a stroke or something, and he needs help, so c’mon!”

And thus, Yuuri was dragged unceremoniously into the changing room, stumbling as Yurio pulled him by his wrist. Yurio kicked the door open, still stuttering, “I don’t know what happened, one minute he was fine, then – ,” He stopped and waved his hand in a vague gesture as they turned a corner, “ _That!_ ”

Yurio flung his arm not clinging to Yuuri at the other side of the changing room where the aforementioned JJ sat in a metal folding chair, hunched over, hands on his knees, and breathing abnormally. His face was alarmingly pale and sweat was shining on his forehead even though it had been some time since his performance. Otabek was standing over him, normally stoic expression contorted in concern, hand outstretched uncertainly, not touching but fingers twitching.

“Well,” Yuuri muttered, “That’s unexpected.”

“I should get a doctor,” Yurio blurted and turned back to the door to do just that.

Yuuri grabbed his wrist in turn and pulled him back, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“What, _you’re_ a doctor now?” Yurio grumbled, but stopped fighting to get his arm back.

Yuuri let go of him when they reached Otabek and JJ, ignoring Yurio’s comment in favor of attending to the stricken skater. Yuuri knelt until he was eye-level with the Canadian, “JJ? Can you talk to us?”

JJ’s eyes flicked up and he seemed to recoil at the sight of him, “Oh, god – it’s _you._ ”

Yuuri’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as Otabek and Yurio shared a baffled look, but JJ didn’t offer anything further.

“Idiot, he’s the nice, pansy Yuri,” Yurio spoke up after a beat and Yuuri shot him a half-hearted glare.

“Yurio, go stand behind Otabek,” Yuuri said pointedly. Yurio cocked an eyebrow, but did as he was told. Yuuri sighed and turned back to the actual problem, softening his voice, “JJ, I just want to help, can you say what’s wrong?”

JJ didn’t respond for moment, breathing still erratic, hand going to his chest and clutching the front of his costume as if in pain. His heart probably felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. Finally, though Yuuri had to lean in to hear, JJ gasped out, “. . . Can’t – _breathe_. I-I think m-my fingers are numb.” He flexed his hand resting on his knee, fingers shaking like leaves.

“Yeah, um,” Yuuri hesitated, noticing Yurio coming into his peripheral to peak around Otabek, “JJ . . . I think you’re having a panic attack.”

JJ’s head finally snapped up at that, gray eyes wide and offended, “ _What?_ ” at the same time Yurio blurted, “Are you serious?”

“It’s okay, it’ll pass,” Yuuri said quickly, trying to sound comforting and reassuring, “Trust me, it’ll pass. Is there anything that would help?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” JJ gasped out instantly, as if the very idea was impossible. His voice breaking on the last word was extremely unconvincing.

“Okay, playing it by ear, then,” Yuuri muttered to himself and glanced around the room for something that might help JJ calm down. If the other was going to be in denial, that was understandable, but not incredibly helpful.

If it were him, he’d usually prefer taking a walk instead of sitting still, or exercising somehow. If it got too extreme he had a prescription in his bag, but he didn’t think that was necessary here, nor was he comfortable suggesting such a thing . . .

His thoughts trailed off as his eyes landed on Otabek, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other, teddy bear still clutched to his stomach from his performance. An idea occurred, a technique Yuuri hadn’t tried since he was little that his mother used to turn to.

Yuuri reached out and grabbed the stuffed bear, asking as an afterthought, “Can I borrow this?”

“Hey,” Yurio protested on Otabek’s behalf, albeit distractedly. For his part, Otabek just nodded and let the bear go without a fight, too preoccupied with the scene in front of him.

Yuuri nodded back in thanks and shoved the bear into JJ’s shaking arms, “Hold this to your chest.”

“Wha – “ JJ breathed but Yuuri cut him off as he dug through his own bag.

“Just do it,” Yuuri found what he was looking for – an unopened water bottle. He twisted the lid off and handed it to JJ, who was obediently cuddling the bear and watching Yuuri with wide eyes, “Take small sips. Slowly.” His mother used to try milk or tea, but that wasn’t readily available in a locker room.

JJ took a few more stuttering breaths before bringing the bottle to his mouth as he was told. Yuuri took a chance and hesitantly laid a hand on JJ’s knee, drawing small circles with his thumb. JJ didn’t push him off so he figured it was okay.

JJ took sips of water in between unsteady breaths that were slowly normalizing. The teddy bear was being squeezed until Yuuri thought the eyes might pop out. Minutes passed and finally, JJ let out a steadying sigh and met Yuuri’s eyes tentatively, “ . . . Thanks. I, uh, think I’m okay now.” It sounded more like a question, nothing more than a murmur.

He was embarrassed. Yuuri just smiled understandingly.

Yuuri tried to put as much Viktor in his voice as he could muster in his tired state and patted JJ’s knee, “See? All better.” Some color was returning to JJ’s face and when his mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile, Yuuri felt somewhat victorious.

“THAT’S IT!?” Yurio’s sudden shout made both JJ and Yuuri jump and look up at the other two boys in the room. Yuuri had honestly almost forgotten them with his attention focused on JJ.

“Yurio,” Yuuri said in a warning tone, but was ignored, as usual.

“Y-you _asshole_!” Yurio screeched, pointing an accusing finger in JJ’s startled face as Otabek held the blonde’s shoulders silently, “I thought you were dying! You massive DICK!”

Yuuri looked just in time to see JJ’s smile slip into something like his usual smirk, “Aw, you were worried, Yuri?”

Yurio’s face turned so red it nearly glowed, “I – you . . . I wasn’t worried, just _disappointed_! You _damn_ – Go have your stupid, fake heart-attacks somewhere else!” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the changing room, throwing one last insult in Russian over his shoulder.

The three men left were silent for a moment until Otabek cleared his throat and muttered, “I’ll get him.” JJ looked up at him and Otabek pointed awkwardly to the teddy bear the former was still holding, “Can I – “

JJ handed the stuffed animal back without hesitation, “Yeah, he needs it more than I do.”

“Thanks,” Otabek nodded to JJ, then Yuuri, and went after Yurio who could still be heard ranting down the hall about ‘maple-sucking bastards.’

There was an awkward moment of silence as he left, JJ and Yuuri staring after him as Yurio’s shouting faded. Then JJ glanced down to Yuuri’s hand still resting on his knee. His face went a bit pink as he said, “Ah, you can stop . . . now. I’m good.”

Yuuri blinked and looked down, having forgotten where his hand had been for the past several minutes, and snatched it back like he’d been burned, “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” JJ shook his head and took another sip from his water.

Yuuri stowed his own embarrassment away for the moment with some difficulty and studied the other man carefully, rising to sit in the chair next to JJ’s lining the wall, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” JJ said quickly, “That was weird. Must have – low blood sugar or something.”

Yuuri cocked an eyebrow, “Or you had a panic attack.”

“Could you stop saying that?” JJ asked in a clipped tone, “I did not ‘panic,’” he put air-quotes up with his fingers, “about anything. And I’m not a damsel fainting because her corset is too tight, so – ”

“First of all, never repeat that in front of an actual woman,” Yuuri interrupted, not wanting to debate on something that was obvious but finding he had no choice, “Second, you had a panic attack. It’s normal to experience a lot of anxiety especially in a competition of this caliber – “

“I’m used to competition,” JJ tried to butt in but Yuuri over-rode him.

“And with your engagement on top of it, it’s no wonder you’re stressed,” Yuuri finished and watched JJ’s eyes widen marginally as he looked away from Yuuri towards a spot on the floor.

When JJ didn’t say anything or deny it again, both Yuuri’s eyebrow went up.

“Oh, I see,” Yuuri muttered and shifted in his seat as JJ looked back up at him sharply, “This isn’t about the Grand Prix.”

JJ was staring fixedly at the floor again, denial apparently forgotten as Yuuri finally found the crux of the problem. He went quiet, and Yuuri began to wonder if he’d overstepped, until JJ said in a hesitant voice, “I told Isabella I’d marry her after I won.” JJ’s thumb on his right hand was absently spinning the ring on his ring finger around and around like a nervous twitch, “Now, I can maybe get on the podium if everyone else screws up, but . . .”

Yuuri paused, looking from JJ’s profile to the gold ring on his own hand, finding the other man’s words too familiar for comfort.

“I promised her,” JJ nearly whispered, seeming to speak more to himself than Yuuri, “I should never have opened my big mouth.”

Yuuri blinked hard, forcefully yanking his thoughts back to the present and focusing on JJ, who was beginning to breathe a little heavily again. The older skater racked his brains for something to say, but Yuuri had _never_ been good at this. It was just one more reason he was so grateful to Viktor and the Russian’s bottomless well of patience, even if he was still learning the ins and outs of Yuuri’s own anxieties. But Viktor wasn’t here and, at the moment, Yuuri wasn’t so keen on bringing him into the conversation.

“Are you . . . afraid she’ll leave?” Yuuri asked hesitantly, fingers smoothing over his ring despite his determination, “If you don’t win? She doesn’t seem like that type of girl.” Not that Yuuri had that much one-on-one time with JJ’s fiancé, but Isabella Yang always seemed happy at JJ’s side.

Maybe he was projecting.

Scratch that, he was definitely projecting.

Luckily, JJ seemed to actually consider it.

The younger skater paused, slowly shaking his head, “No, she’s not. She’s amazing,” JJ’s thumb continued to twist his ring, “I just . . . really wanted to keep my promise to her. I love her.”

Yuuri felt his face heat up a little at the gentle timbre JJ’s voice had dropped too. He wondered briefly if that’s what he sounded like when he was talking about Viktor. He hoped not, Yurio would die and take Yuuri and Viktor with him if he heard that.

“She wants kids,” JJ said randomly, snapping Yuuri back to the topic at hand, the latter almost slapping himself for drifting again.

“Hm? Is – Is that bad?” Yuuri asked tentatively.

“No,” JJ replied a little too quickly, “No, of course not, kids are great. Our kids would be great.” JJ’s tone was still distracted, so Yuuri nudged him with his elbow, hoping the touch didn’t break the spell. He was also terrible at well-timed physical contact, as a certain Russian and his fear of balding had the misfortune of finding out.

“But?” Yuuri asked, quietly encouraging JJ. If he was anything like Yuuri (which, previous to the Finals, Yuuri would have never considered) then stewing in his anxiety would only make it worse. Better it was out in the open, no matter who heard.

JJ bit his lip and looked at Yuuri almost desperately, “But kids _hate me_.”

Yuuri blinked, slightly taken aback by the urgency in JJ’s voice, “What makes you think that?”

“Yuri!” JJ jabbed his thumb at the door, then clarified after a moment, “Plisetsky, not you. Man, that’s confusing.”

“Yurio told you kids hate you?” Yuuri was having trouble following and that seemed like a pretty weak insult coming from the Russian Punk.

“No, he _is_ a kid and he hates me,” JJ explained quickly, taking another sip from the water bottle. Yuuri was really beginning to wish they had a kettle of Chamomile tea.

Yuuri chuckled a little, but stopped when JJ glared at him, holding his hands up in a sign of peace, “Sorry, it’s just – Yurio is not a kid, he’s a teenager and an exceptionally angry one at that. Wait, how old are _you_ again?”

“Nineteen,” JJ said with a shrug.

“God, you’re all infants,” Yuuri sighed.

“You’re only five years older than me,” JJ deadpanned.

“And Yurio only acts that way toward you because you two are competitors,” Yuuri went on, “You’re not going to compete against your own children. Are you?”

“No, of course not,” JJ looked mildly horrified.

“Well, there you go,” Yuuri said, “Just because Yurio hates everyone doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad father or anything. You should really expand your sample size.”

“You and Otabek are his competitors, he doesn’t hate you two,” JJ protested, a small challenge in his eyes.

“I can’t speak for Otabek – he seems to be a special case – but Yurio once told me he hoped I died in a freak Zamboni accident so that he could have the chance to skate over my remains,” Yuuri said, JJ’s face falling into awe.

“Wow,” JJ murmured, “Strangely, that makes me feel better.”

“Glad to help,” Yuuri laughed, coaxing another small smile out of JJ as well.

JJ stood and stretched his arms above his head, his back to Yuuri as he collecting himself and Yuuri let him have a moment. Eventually, JJ turned back to the older skater, smiling abashedly, “Uhm, thank you, again. For that.” He waved the water bottle at the chair he previously sat in.

Yuuri shrugged, feeling his face heat as he stood with the other man, “No problem.” He turned to his bag and started unzipping it, hoping to use it as a distraction for himself, “You should talk to Isabella about it. Or your coaches, someone you’re comfortable with.”

“I – Why?” JJ stuttered, sounding alarmed, “Is it gonna happen again?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Yuuri said honestly, pretending to search through his bag so he didn’t have to make any more eye-contact, “You don’t have a history like me, so this could have just been a freak occurrence. But it never hurts,” Yuuri paused, deciding to turn around and meet JJ’s face to continue, “And don’t you think they’d want to know? And help?”

JJ hesitated again, clutching the bottle in his hands close to his chest as he stared down at Yuuri.

“I guess,” JJ muttered quietly, “Yeah, they . . . they would want to know.”

Yuuri smiled and hummed approvingly, turning back to his bag and remembering he actually needed to change clothes at some point and pulled out his sweats.

“Yuuri?” JJ asked behind him and Yuuri turned, clothes in hand as JJ asked tentatively, “That sort of thing – panic attacks – that happens to you a lot?”

Yuuri’s head tilted as he shrugged, “Not as much now, since I’m better at coping, but sometimes.”

JJ’s eyes widened again, as if Yuuri had grown an extra head. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then the door of the changing room opened loudly and a female voice called out, “JJ? That scary Russian boy said you were having a heart-attack – “

Isabella Yang ran around the corner, no heed to the fact that it was a men’s changing room, and stopped as soon as she saw JJ standing there looking alive and well. JJ grinned apologetically and waved.

Isabella’s cheeks reddened in anger, “If this is that boy’s idea of a prank, it is not funny.”

JJ laughed and went to her, hugging her tight, almost like he had the teddy bear, “No prank, but . . . I’ll explain later. I’ve had a weird day.”

Yuuri felt like he was intruding when Isabella stepped back and raised her hand to touch JJ’s face, “Are you okay? You do look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, mostly,” JJ reassured her, “Let’s just find mom and dad and go back to the hotel. I’m tired.”

Isabella nodded with a smile and glanced around until she spotted JJ’s bag, still sitting next to the chair he’d collapsed in. She quickly crossed the room to pick it up, seeming to notice Yuuri for the first time as she did.

She gave him a genuine smile, “Yuuri Katsuki. You skate beautifully.”

Yuuri blushed right up to the roots of his hair, “Th-thank you.”

“Not as beautifully as me, right?” JJ fake-pouted, hands on his hips.

Isabella laughed and rolled her eyes conspiratorially at Yuuri, “Of course not, JJ. Come on, your parents are waiting.”

She started to push him out the door and JJ waved to Yuuri over his shoulder. Yuuri waved back, listening as Isabella giggled, “Were you two hugging again?”

“Why did I tell you about that?” JJ grumbled good naturedly.

Later, and Yuuri isn’t sure how because he never gave JJ his number, he received a text from the Canadian that read, _I owe you one btw._

Yuuri smiled down at it as Viktor stepped out of the shower wrapped in the hotel robe and rubbing his silver hair with a towel, deciding an answer could wait.

* * *

**A/N:** Don’t worry, I’m not rehashing the Victuuri angst, I had enough of that in the actual show orz. More to come, if ya’ll like this! Also, see this [post](http://mr-reblogbutton.tumblr.com/post/154564760292/tfw-yuuri-is-all-there-for-coming-to-respect-jj) :) Because this is all JJ's fault to begin with.

**Bonus: Lines I wanted to use, but couldn’t find a place for.**

Yuuri: You can be a little obnoxious.

JJ: How so?

Yuuri: Well, you skate to “The Theme of King JJ”

JJ: Says the guy who skates to something called “Yuuri on Ice”

Yuuri: . . . Point.


	2. Phichit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit was never one to mope. At least not in the traditional sense.

**A/N:** More notes at the bottom, for now: Phichit!

Again, there is no Beta, be warned. (And point out mistakes in the comments, please ;)

* * *

Phichit was never one to mope. At least not in the traditional sense.

Yuuri found this out the hard way when they roomed together in Detroit. Yuuri’s idea of moping was holing up in his room with a gallon of ice cream to keep him company. When they lived together and Yuuri was busy moping, Phichit would break into Yuuri’s room at some point and either drag him out or sit watching a movie with him.

Yuuri would forever be grateful to Phichit for those times, the younger skater’s open and easy acceptance of him.

That’s why it took a while to figure out when exactly Phichit needed _him_.

It was the morning after the GPF, and Yuuri won his silver medal. It was leaning toward noon and Yuuri had slept in, Viktor waking him only once with a kiss and a promise to meet back at the hotel to get lunch. Then Viktor left to arrange their departure back to Hasetsu.

Yuuri had actually just been about to text Phichit, to see if he wanted to join them for lunch (Viktor had a knack for finding the best places to eat), when the knock came from his hotel door.

Yuuri opened it and there Phichit stood, grinning, carrying a stack of magazines and a notebook in his arms, his laptop bag hanging off of one shoulder, “Yuuri!”

Yuuri blinked in surprise but smiled for his friend, “Phichit? What on earth is all that?”

Phichit was practically bouncing as Yuuri stood aside and let him in, “We have a lot of planning to do, silly.” He went to Yuuri’s bed, still wrinkled from Yuuri’s late morning, and tipped his stack of magazines onto it in a scattered pile.

“Planning?” Yuuri followed him over, feeling as if he’d missed something as Phichit hopped onto the bed with a bounce and creak of springs.

Phichit was busily pulling out his laptop as he went on, “Well, now, I know you and Viktor probably have your own ideas, so just consider all this _suggestion_. You’ll have to tell me how far along you’ve gotten, I mean, I trust Viktor to throw a big bash, but frankly Yuuri - and I say this with love - you’re a disaster at party planning – “

Yuuri clambered onto the bed next to Phichit making as much movement on the mattress as possible and pulling the laptop away from him, “ _Phichit._ What are you talking about? What party?”

Phichit’s shoulders slumped a bit and he made a face Yuuri had come to associate with the younger skater being terribly exasperated with Yuuri’s societal ineptitude, “Your's and Viktor’s _wedding,_ Yuuri, honestly.”

Yuuri blinked again and glanced around at all the glossy magazines covering his bed. They were all wedding magazines, most depicting a woman in white on the front. But he could see from a quick scan Phichit had found many with articles about destination weddings, food, and decor.

“Oh,” Yuuri said quietly, knowing his face was turning pink.

Phichit snorted, “Don’t tell me you haven’t even thought about it yet.”

Yuuri smiled, embarrassed, “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

Phichit rolled his eyes and flopped dramatically back onto the pillows, “Oh, what I must have done in a past life to deserve a best friend like you!”

Yuuri laughed and poked Phichit in the ribs where he knew the Thai skater was ticklish, “I’m _sorry_! With everything going on, I haven’t had a chance to really think about . . . this sort of thing.”

Phichit squeaked at the tickling and sat up, still looking grumpy at Yuuri, “Well, I can guarantee you, your fiancé has thought about it, so we should probably get on top of this before it’s completely out of our hands.”

Yuuri crossed his legs in front of him and tilted his head, “Viktor hasn’t said anything to me yet, if he has.”

“Viktor is a _diva_ , Yuuri,” Phichit said, setting his laptop up on the night-stand and grabbing a few of the nearest magazines into his lap, “He’s thought about it. And I’ve been talking to Chris – “

“Christophe?” Yuuri interrupted, “Why’re you talking to him?”

“Texting, really,” Phichit mumbled distractedly as he opened the reading material to some pages he’d marked, “And because I had to get a better idea of what Viktor might like. I’m thinking a purple color scheme, with blue accents, very royal and you two are such a power couple – “

“Phichit,” Yuuri tried to stop him, but Phichit didn’t even pause.

“ – and pink roses. Or is that too cliché? I think, with the cooler color scheme, red roses may pop more, but pink is so classic – “

“Phichit.”

“Do you think you’ll want a band or a DJ? Stupid question, bands are classier. But we’ll have to find one people can dance to – “

Finally, Yuuri just picked up the nearest pillow and bopped Phichit on top of his head, “ _Phichit-kun,_ stop _._ ”

Yuuri let go of the pillow and it flopped into Phichit’s lap, the younger skater catching it in his hands and holding to his chest so it covered the bottom part of his face, “What was that for?” Yuuri couldn’t see his mouth but he knew Phichit was pouting.

“What is all this about?” Yuuri countered and Phichit’s grip on the pillow tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Your wedding?” Phichit said uncertainly.

“Phichit-kun,” Yuuri said in a warning tone, “You know very well what I mean.”

Phichit hugged the pillow to his chest and Yuuri could _feel_ him pout harder, “I’m just trying to help you kick off your wedded bliss properly – “

“Quite suddenly,” Yuuri agreed, “Kind of like how you wanted to help me shop for the perfect tie when you didn’t qualify for last year’s Grand Prix? Or how arbitrarily decided we needed to take up pottery after you twisted your ankle and Celestino banned you from the rink until it healed? Or that time you – “

Yuuri stopped when he got a mouthful of pillow as it swatted him in the face. He let it flopped into his lap and blinked through his crooked glasses at a pouty Phichit.

“Okay, you made your point,” Phichit said petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders.

Yuuri smiled and readjusted the pillow in his lap, patting it flat, “So, are you going to tell me what’s got you so hyped for mine and Viktor’s nuptials?”

Phichit’s expression softened, but even though he smiled it looked sad. Yuuri patted the pillow again and finally Phichit shifted, curling onto his side, and laying his head in Yuuri’s lap. The magazines crinkled under his hip but neither of them paid them any mind. Yuuri let him think for a minute, hands going to Phichit’s hair and brushing it out of his face.

Phichit was always one of the few people Yuuri felt at ease being touchy feely with. Whether it was by proximity from when they lived together or the fact that they were such good friends he didn’t know, but he was happy he could do this much for his friend.

“You’ll think I’m being a baby,” Phichit started, face half pressed into the hotel pillow.

“Hm, maybe you are,” Yuuri teased and laughed when Phichit grumbled pitifully up at him.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Phichit whined.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuuri said, ruffling the other man’s hair into a mess of spikes, “Go on, tell me, no judgment. Promise.”

Phichit _hrmphed,_ but put his face back into the pillow and started again, slowly saying, “I finished sixth, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s hands paused in smoothing Phichit’s hair back, blinking down at his friends profile in surprise, “Oh, yeah, but . . . only by like one point.” He paused as Phichit pressed his face a little harder into the pillow, the weight on Yuuri’s legs increasing like a plea, “I didn’t know it bothered you that much.”

“It didn’t,” Phichit said quickly, shrugging one shoulder, “But then it did. I mean . . . _sixth._ ”

“It’s your first Grand Prix,” Yuuri replied.

“I know, but,” Phichit sighed and Yuuri rubbed circles into his scalp as encouragement, “I guess I was expecting to do better than _last place_. I know I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up so much and I’m not trying to be a sore loser – “

“You’re not,” Yuuri stopped his friend gently, “You’re disappointed, it’s okay.” Phichit went quiet for a moment, Yuuri letting him and carding his fingers through his hair.

“It doesn’t feel like I have a right to be disappointed, though,” Phichit said, sounding almost guilty, “I went up against some of the best skaters in the world, I should never have assumed I could beat them to begin with.”

“Phichit-kun,” Yuuri sighed and Phichit’s eyes cut to the side so that they met Yuuri’s. Yuuri smiled understandingly down at him and went on, “ _You_ are also one of the best skaters in the world.”

Phichit blinked and turned his head and Yuuri was glad he was paying attention.

“You can be disappointed your first year,” Yuuri said determinedly, “That way, when you come back next year,” He paused as Phichit grinned up at him, “You’ll be that much more determined.”

Phichit seemed to think about that for a minute before his grin got a little bigger, “You think?”

Yuuri grinned back, “I know.” He paused and ruffled Phichit’s bangs again, “Besides maybe this means a beautiful gold medalist will show up on your doorstep and demand to coach you.”

Phichit’s eyes widened as he rolled over onto his back to look Yuuri in the eye, hands folding over his chest as he gasped dramatically, “And we’ll fall in love and live happily ever after?”

“Of course,” Yuuri laughed in return.

Phichit, manic energy abated for the moment and content, pulled some of the wrinkled magazines out from under him and held them above his face, obscuring it from Yuuri’s sight for the moment, “Well, if that’s the case, we’ll have to get you hitched and on your way so it doesn’t distract from _my_ epic romance.”

Yuuri leaned back on his hands and watched his friend happily open some of the pages he’d marked, saying teasingly, “Mmm, you may have to wait a bit longer, Phichit-kun.”

“Why’s that?” Phichit asked distractedly.

“You remember,” Yuuri replied, reaching for a few of the glossy pages, “Viktor said we wouldn’t get married until I’d won a gold medal.”

A beat passed and Phichit slowly lowered the magazine so that Yuuri could see his blank expression, “What?”

Yuuri shrugged, hiding his smile behind the pictures of barn weddings he held, “Oh, well, I only got silver this time around,” he sighed, “I guess there’s always next year.”

Phichit just stared at him for a moment. Then, as fate would have it, the door handle jiggled and clicked, allowing Viktor to enter the room.

“Yuuri ~,” Viktor sang out, smiling at the two on the bed, “Are you still cooped up in here?” He’d apparently found Christophe as well, the Swiss skater waving at them from over Viktor’s shoulder.

Yuuri waved back and opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Phichit shooting up off the bed so quickly he almost smacked Yuuri in the chin with his head.

“You!” Phichit spat accusingly, pointing an accusing finger at Viktor, who paused in taking his coat off to stare at the younger skater. Viktor glanced in confusion between Phichit, Yuuri, and finally Chris, who just shrugged.

“Uh, me?” Viktor asked meekly, pointing to himself.

“Yes, you!” Phichit practically screeched, hand not pointing crinkling a magazine to death, “How _could_ you!?”

“Phichit-kun?” Yuuri tried, but Phichit held a hand in front of his face.

“No, Yuuri, this is between me and the Russian,” Phichit said, swinging his legs off the bed and moving threateningly toward Viktor. Christophe wisely slipped around his friend and moved farther into the room toward Yuuri still sitting on the bed.

“How could you?” Phichit repeated, poking a very confused Viktor in the chest.

“What did I do?” Viktor asked a little desperately, shrinking against the wall.

Despite being the smaller of the two, Phichit seemed to tower over him for a moment, “Saying you can’t marry Yuuri until he wins a gold medal! Are you senile?”

“Oh, no, Phichit,” Yuuri tried again, “It was only a joke.”

Phichit glared at him and Yuuri shut his mouth, “This is no laughing matter, Yuuri!”

“But -,” Viktor squeaked but Christophe decided to join in.

“ _Tsk, tsk,_ Viktor,” Christophe crooned sadly, picking up a few of the scattered magazines and perusing casually, “How terribly cruel of you. And I thought you were a romantic.”

“Chris, don’t help,” Viktor hissed, turning back to a still simmering Phichit, “And I did say that, but it was just – “

“So help me Nikiforov, if you two aren’t married with three kids by the end of next year,” Phichit growled.

“Wait, three kids?” Viktor sputtered.

Phichit’s eye twitched and he let out a groan, “Oh my _god_ , Viktor! You haven’t even talked about your _color scheme_! Priorities!”

“I – okay, which is the priority?” Viktor asked, trying desperately to keep up, “The color scheme or the kids?”

Phichit groaned as if in pain again and slumped back over to the bed, flopping down and making Yuuri and Chris bounce, starting to gather up his stack of papers and his laptop.

Chris _tsked_ again, “Shame, Viktor, such a shame.”

Viktor glared at his friend, “Who’s side are you on?”

Chris just smiled widely, “Whichever side gets you married off to our darling Yuuri faster. Right now, that’s Phichit’s side.”

Viktor looked helplessly at Yuuri, “When did I become the bad guy? I missed something.”

“Not really,” Yuuri shook his head, but was cut off by Phichit grabbing his wrist and pulling him off the bed.

“C’mon, Yuuri, we don’t need this,” Phichit grumbled and pulled them toward the door, “We’ll finish planning in my room.”

“Can I come?” Christophe asked eagerly, picking up a few of the magazines Phichit missed in his haste.

“Of course,” Phichit answered promptly, stopping to clumsily jab a finger at Viktor around his stack of material, “But _you_ are not invited until you’ve had time to think about what you’ve done. And you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Viktor chuckled as Yuuri cocked an eyebrow, saying, “Well, I don’t know about _that_.”

Phichit sighed, shoulders slumping tiredly as Chris followed them out, “ _Work_ with me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looked back at Viktor as the other two started up a conversation about location and caught Viktor smiling bemusedly just outside the door. He waved and Viktor returned it, calling after them, “Our plane leaves in a few hours.”

Yuuri smiled back and nodded, blushing a bit as he called back, “Love you.”

Viktor smiled so big his eyes crinkled, “And I you, darling Yuuri.”

* * *

 **A/N:** So, this turned out less hurt/comfort and more fluffy friendship, but I hope you’ll forgive me for it. Anyway, sorry this is late, real life has gotten a bit busy T^T But the next chapter is partially written so I hope it will be out sooner!

Thank you for all the feedback, you’ve all been so encouraging XD


	3. Yurio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yurio has a well-earned moment of teen angst.

**A/N:** *slams through your door* NOT DEAD!!! In case you were worried. Although, I’m writing this amidst tornadic weather in my area so that could change soon. Good times!

Adding a quick note to let my lovely readers know I didn’t respond to any reviews from the last chapter because there were SO MANY TvT that I wept and, also, I was on vacation with family and it was hard to find a spare moment. I apologize and wanted to give all you wonderful commenters/bookmarks/kudos a big, gushy THANK YOU!!! And I’m so glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope this one suits you as well XD

And now, Yuri(o)!

* * *

 

Yuuri had found over the years that there were plenty of reasons to be jealous of Viktor Nikiforov. His talent, medals, beauty, his innate ability to surprise.

After Yuuri moved in with him in St. Petersburg, however, he found one more aspect of Viktor’s to envy.

He was unerringly able to sleep like a rock for approximately eight hours a night, through anything, no matter what.

Something Yuuri was currently struggling with.

Yuuri watched his fiancé sleep peacefully beside him in the bed, Makkachin cuddled between them, dog and master softly snoring (In sync. Which was a bit weird but also adorable). As nice as it was to watch Viktor sleep (the man was abnormally gorgeous, just, all the time) it would be equally nice to be able to join him.

Yuuri turned his face away from the sight and sighed up at the ceiling. It seemed his insomnia was planning to stick around tonight. And it was too late to take a pill unless he wanted to go to practice in the morning drowsy _and_ sleep deprived.

Groaning quietly enough not to wake Viktor, Yuuri slowly got out of bed, feet quickly finding their way into his slippers. Viktor’s apartment was nice but the floors were _cold._ Yuuri slipped his glasses on and silently made his way out of the bedroom with one last glance back at his sleeping fiancé to make sure he hadn’t disturbed him. He smiled a little when Makkachin yawned in her sleep, right in Viktor’s face. The man crinkled his nose and rolled over, mumbling incoherently.

Yuuri shook his head, laughing silently, and went to the kitchen, stopping almost immediately outside the door when he saw he wasn’t alone in his sleeplessness.

“Yurio?” Yuuri whispered into the half-lit apartment, shuffling over to the little table arranged in the center of the kitchen. The only source of light was the one positioned above their small table.

Yurio growled at him from where he sat in one of the four chairs, face pressed into the table-top in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable, his phone laying precariously on the corner. The last time Yuuri had seen him was a few hours ago when Yurio had yelled he was crashing on their couch because it was too cold to walk home. He’d done just that and grabbed the extra blanket and pillow from the linen closet (the ones Yuuri and Viktor could never admit they kept there just for Yurio) and flopped onto the couch before Yuuri had even had the chance to move. Yuuri swore he felt a bruise blooming on his hip where Yurio’s foot jabbed him.

Yuuri shuffled into the kitchen, going for the stove and the kettle, “Shouldn’t you be asleep, Yurio?” The question was rhetorical but, of course, he received an answer anyway.

“I’m supposed to be a lot of things,” Yurio mumbled into the table miserably, “But, apparently, I live to disappoint.”

Yuuri paused in filling the kettle with water from the tap and turned to look at the back of the blonde’s head, “ . . . Is that an existential crisis I’m sensing?”

“No, shut up,” Yurio grumbled and Yuuri nodded, putting the kettle on the stove and turning the heat on.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuri asked, going to the refrigerator and pulling out the milk.

“No, go away,” Yurio finally lifted his head so it was his chin resting on the table, “Why are you awake and annoying me?”

Yuuri got a glass out of the cabinet without looking at the younger skater, “Insomnia’s acting up.”

“Uh-huh,” Yurio mumbled disinterestedly. Yuuri set the glass in front of his face laying on the table and filling it with milk. Yurio glared at it and then at him, “I don’t want that.”

Yuuri smiled and hummed, going to the cabinet again for a mug and his box of tea. A few minutes passed in silence until the kettle whistled and Yuuri poured up his tea.

He sat down next to Yurio as he added honey to his drink. He noted the milk looked a little lower in the glass than when he’d left it even though Yurio didn’t seem to have moved.

Yurio raised his head, propping himself on his elbows and narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Yuuri, “We’re not talking.”

“Okay,” Yuuri replied lightly. He blew on his tea and took a careful sip.

Yurio’s jaw clenched as he went from glaring daggers at Yuuri to burning a hole in the table, “I just can’t sleep, there’s nothing wrong.”

Yuuri could relate, but didn’t say so, merely raising an eyebrow in response. Inside, he racked his brain, trying to figure out on his own what _could_ have been bothering Yurio. Normally, the boy slept like a rock, nothing short of a bucket of water getting him up in the mornings.

As far as he could remember nothing too dramatic had happened during practice that week.

Slowly, however, Yuuri recalled early in the week when Yakov had been going through individual practice with Yurio, the two of them forming a new routine. Yurio had flubbed a quad, to the surprise of everyone. He’d been fairly consistently landing his Quadruple Salchow since he was twelve and Yurio had fallen. Twice.

Both times he immediately gotten back up, tried again, and landed it, so it could have just been a fluke. But maybe it shook him a little more than they thought.

Yuuri watched the younger skater pull his glass of milk a little closer, swirling the glass, and decided to try a different tactic.

“Your new routine looks pretty difficult,” Yuuri says casually, knowing immediately it was a pretty obtuse statement by the way Yurio glares at him.

“We’re professional figure skaters, it’s supposed to be difficult. Idiot,” Yurio mumbles the last word but sips at his milk, eyes turned away from Yuuri, “And it’s not like I’m new to difficult routines.”

Yuuri smiles a little, not offended, “Our little gold-medalist.”

He expected Yurio to glare at him or punch his arm, but none of that happens. Instead, Yurio’s face falls fractionally before he folds his arms on the table and rests his chin on them tiredly. He doesn’t seem to be speaking to Yuuri anymore as he mutters, “Yeah, friggin’ gold-medalist. _Yippee_.”

Yuuri blinks in surprise, “Yurio?”

“Nothing,” Yurio glances sideways as if remembering Yuuri is still there, “It’s dumb, go away.”

Yuuri’s hand clenched around his tea mug as his stomach rolled in worry. He watched the younger skater for a moment, saying for lack of anything better, “I still have to finish my tea.”

“Whatever,” Yurio mumbled and buried his face in his arms.

“Hey,” Yuuri reached out and carded his fingers through Yurio’s hair, much like he would have if it were Phichit, surprising himself, but continuing, “What’s wrong? Is Yakov being too hard on you? Or Madame Baranovskaya? If Viktor’s done something, I can – “

“ _No_ ,” Yurio nearly whined, face still pressed into his arm as he batted half-heartedly at Yuuri’s hand in his hair. Yuuri ignored it and kept up the petting, Yurio sighing irritably but allowing it, “No, they’re fine. They haven’t figured out I’ve peaked at fifteen yet.”

Yuuri’s hand froze for a second before continuing to play with the blonde’s hair. It was getting longer by the day and sometimes Mila teased Yurio for ‘copying Viktor, you fanboy.’

Yuuri tugged on a strand lightly before prompting, “Peaked?”

Yurio still didn’t look up, face determinedly pressed into his arm, “I won a gold medal and haven’t progressed at all since then. Yakov is trying to increase the difficulty of my program and Lilia’s been on my ass for _weeks_ saying I’ve gotta catch up, too. I’m just . . .” He seemed to struggle for a word but Yuuri decided to butt in before he got too far.

“It hasn’t even been a year, Yurio,” Yuuri said gently, smoothing his palm over a cowlick at the back of Yurio’s head, “You just have to be patient.” And maybe Yuuri should have a _word_ with Yakov and Lilia.

“I’m patient!” Yurio spat, his shooting up to glare at Yuuri once more and knocking his hand away.

“Yes, you’re the epitome of tolerance,” Yuuri said sagely. Yurio’s face colored and Yuuri hurried on, “Athletes plateau from time to time, Yurio, you know that.”

Yurio’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders went ridged like he was about to start shouting, but before Yuuri could sent a mental apology to Viktor and Makkachin in the next room, the boy just . . . deflated. Yurio hunched forward again, chin in the crook of his elbow, “Yeah, I know.”

Yuuri was actually starting to get really concerned now, because at the very least, a shouting Yurio meant a normal Yurio. He tried again, “Is something else distracting you? You know, I never perform as well when something is on my mind.” Which Viktor was getting a little _too_ good at noticing and pestering Yuuri about until he spilled his woes all over the ice.

Yuuri noted the way Yurio’s eyes darted to his dark, silent phone at the question, “No.”

Yuuri hummed noncommittally, took a sip of his considerably cooler tea, and waited. Usually he could only annoy answers out of Yurio for so long before the boy either shut down or threw something at his head.

Yuuri managed to almost finish his tea before Yurio sighed, a growl lacing his voice as he grumbled, “I texted Otabek earlier this week and when he didn’t text back I did it again,” He picked up his phone and swiped it open, scrolling through his texts, showing the two he sent to Otabek to Yuuri, “Look, maybe I sounded whiney? Or clingy? I don’t know, I’m not good at this.” Yurio’s voice was starting to sound a little panicked as Yuuri read the two perfectly innocent texts.

The first was longer, bemoaning the fact that he’d flubbed some jumps and his coaches were on his case. The second was just a question: _Hey, you there? I’m trying to complain???_

Yuuri looked up to tell the other that he had nothing to worry about, but Yurio apparently thought he took too long. Yurio pulled the phone back to his chest, staring down at it with a wrinkled brow, “I annoyed him, that’s probably it. I wanted to ask him but I can’t text him _again_ since I already bothered him with two texts and if I _call_. . . God, he probably wants me to just stop talking to him. Can he do that? I don’t know how this works, Otabek asked to be friends, can he call the whole thing off if he – “

Yuuri finally decided there was not going to be a break in this rant so he reached out and placed his hand over Yurio’s phone. Yurio stopped mid-sentence and looked up at him, something unreadable in those green eyes.

Yuuri smiled and tugged the phone out of the boy’s resistant grip, looking down at the texts again, “There’s nothing wrong with these messages. And if Otabek wants to stop being your friend just because of this, he’s probably not a good influence on you.”

“You do remember that you’re not my mother?” Yurio deadpanned.

“Hush, _kotenok,_ I’m helping you,” Yuuri hoped he didn’t garble that word too much as he discretely tapped on Yurio’s phone under the table where the boy couldn’t see. He was almost finished typing _You okay?_ As he said, “We’ll just try one more time and see – “

“Katsudon, what the hell are you doing with my phone?” Yurio asked, face paling as he scrambled from his seat to look in Yuuri’s lap, “Oh my god, give it back! What the _hell,_ did Viktor drop you on the ice?”

Yurio was getting progressively louder and nearly knocked over their drinks as his chair scraped back. Yuuri almost fell out of his chair keeping the phone away from the fifteen-year-old practically climbing over his shoulder to get the phone he held away at arm’s length when said phone vibrated, a ringtone interrupting the short scuffle.

“Oh, he’s calling,” Yuuri said mildly, despite Yurio’s arm wrapped around his neck in a botched choke-hold, his glasses askew.

Yurio lunged, spitting indignantly, “Give it, katsudon!”

Yuuri let it go without a fight this time, snickering even though he felt a new bruise forming where he’d banged his knee on the underside of the table.

Yurio almost dropped the phone in his haste to answer, jabbing the screen with his thumb so hard Yuuri was amazed it didn’t crack.

“H-hello?” Yurio answer the phone and from his chair Yuuri could clearly hear him be immediately answered by a rush of accented English, Otabek’s deeper voice hurrying to apologize. Something in the line of Yurio’s shoulders seemed to relax and he smiled a small, relieved smile, “No, it’s okay, I just . . . Oh, your mom was sick? Well, yeah, I understand that . . . Uh-huh,” Yurio paused to breathe a laugh, “Yeah, my coaches have been on me, too . . . Is everything okay now? . . . Good, I-I’m glad . . .”

They exchanged a few more words before Yurio once again remembered that a smiling Yuuri was still sitting next to him.

Yurio narrowed his eyes in a watered-down glare and Yuuri got the message, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. Yuuri stood, finishing off his cold tea in one gulp, going to put his mug in the sink. He was about to leave Yurio and Otabek to it when he paused, deciding to walk the long way around the table, behind Yurio’s chair.

Yuuri stopped behind the chair, recalling a trick Mila liked to use at the rink. Leaning over the back of Yurio’s chair while the younger was distracted, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Yurio’s biceps from behind, so he couldn’t struggle away, hugging him tight.

Yurio hissed, squirming in Yuuri's grip and bit out, “Get lost, idiot, go hug your damn husband,” Yuuri let go with a chuckle as Yurio said louder, “Oh, no, not you, Otabek. Katsudon is being a dick, hugging me and shit.”

Yuuri made his way back to the bedroom, stretching his arms over his head. He turned back once to see Yurio smiling into the phone, holding the glass of milk to his chest. Yuuri left the door open just a crack, if only to hear the way Yurio laughed when Otabek said something funny.

Yuuri climbed back into bed, trying to be a quiet as he had been getting out. Unfortunately, Makkachin decided he was being entirely too troublesome tonight and huffed at Yuuri as she woke up and clambered off the bed – over Viktor and stepping on his kidney on the way to sleep with Yurio on the couch.

Viktor grunted and swatted nonthreateningly at Makkachin who was long gone through the opening Yuuri left in the door, turning over and seeing Yuuri half under the covers, glasses on.

Yuuri smiled guiltily as he lay back down, replacing his glasses on the bedside table and whispering, “Sorry, that was my fault.”

Viktor shook his head and rubbed his palm over one eye as he mumbled, “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Yuuri reassured him.

Viktor peeked open one eye to study him blearily, “Insomnia?”

“Hm,” Yuuri nodded and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders.

Viktor sighed and raised his arm under the sheets. Yuuri chuckled and snuggled into his warmth, Viktor wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him close until they shared a pillow.

“You could wake me. I wouldn’t mind,” Viktor said sleepily.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Yuuri sighed, “No sense in us both being tired at practice.”

“ _Nothing_ I can do, hm?” Viktor mumbled coyly, hand around Yuuri’s waist finding its way under his shirt and tickling up his spine.

“ _Viktor_ ,” Yuuri laughed, reaching around to still Viktor’s hand by grabbing his wrist, “Behave. Yurio’s just in the other room.”

Viktor groaned again, but he was smiling as he closed his eyes and nuzzled the top of Yuuri’s head, “Fine.”

Much to his relief, Yuuri was actually starting to feel a little sleepy before he remembered, “Remind me that we’re low on milk.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor grumbled into his pillow, “Darling, we both know I won’t.”

“And we need to arrange a play-date,” Yuuri went on, ignoring him.

Viktor peeked open an eye again, “Wha - ?”

“Otabek and Yurio,” Yuuri said sleepily, wrapping his own arm around Viktor to try and soak up more body heat, “Play-date. Remind me.”

Viktor blinked, “ . . . Sure.”

Yuuri felt his eyes get heavier and he was just about asleep when he felt Viktor move. His fiancé’s phone lit up, and right before he was fully unconscious, Yuuri swore Viktor was tapping a reminder into his phone.

* * *

The next day Yurio landed three Quads in a row, Yakov shouting at him to slow down before he hurt himself. The blonde just waved it off and did another.

Yuuri still mentioned to Viktor that Yurio may need a break and he knew the message got to Yakov as he ended practice early and gruffly reminded Yurio to call his grandfather.

“I know this is your fault, katsudon,” Yurio grumbled as they all left the rink in a group to go get dinner. Yuuri just smiled, nodded, and ordered an extra piece of cake that night. If it happened to find its way into Yurio’s doggy bag, neither of them mentioned it.

* * *

 **A/N:** I also have bouts of insomnia and am consistently pissed off about it.

When you start googling the time difference between Almaty, Kazakhstan and Saint Petersburg, Russia, you know you’re in deep. . . . Almaty is 3 hours ahead btw, if it saves you any trouble.

Thank you again for all the feedback and I’ll try to do better in replying this time round ;)


	4. Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The great Viktor Nikiforov can be insecure, too. Thankfully, he has Yuuri.

**A/N:** This is mega late because real life got a little too real for a bit and I have the time management skills of a goldfish to boot, so yeah, excuses, excuses. Therefore, I am very sorry this took so long T^T and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Yuuri fell to the ice hard, feeling his backside hit first but spitefully pleased that Viktor’s stomach was what stopped his head and shoulders from connecting with the surface. Viktor let out a loud “Oof!” as he landed, Yuuri inadvertently knocking the wind out of him when they landed. Served him right, being the one who dropped Yuuri in the first place.

They lay there for a moment, catching their breath. Yuuri broke the silence first, still laying half on top of Viktor, “ _This_ is why I wanted to practice somewhere not on the ice first.”

“Yes, I know,” Viktor replied steadily.

“Also, somewhere private,” Yuuri went on, hearing Yurio’s cackling from the other side of the ice.

“Okay, I get it,” Viktor said, impatience lacing his tone.

“And possibly _padded,_ ” Yuuri went on pointedly.

“I said ‘ _okay_ ’,” Viktor finally huffed, sitting up on his elbows, “Are you going to get off me?”

“No, not yet,” Yuuri said, pettily hoping Viktor’s butt was going as numb as his was sore, “I really want the ‘I told you so’ to sink in.”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor whined pitifully and flopped back onto the ice, “So cruel to your loving fiancé.”

“My loving fiancé who just dropped me on the cold, hard ice,” Yuuri fired back, but finally got up and graciously held out a helping hand to Viktor.

Viktor pouted but took his hand and stood up on his skates. Yuuri kept hold of Viktor’s hand even when he was standing, just so the other knew he wasn’t really all that mad. Viktor held back and smiled at him, “So, we’re not ready for lifts yet.”

Yuuri was about to agree (and _not_ repeat that he’d _known that_ before Viktor insisted) but as he opened his mouth Yurio skated by and beat him to it, saying, “I could’ve told you your bones were getting to brittle to hold up a whole _katsudon_ , Gramps.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he watched Yurio snicker, “Or, maybe we just need a demonstration. Mila! Would you be a _dear_?”

“I’m on it, Captain,” Mila, appearing practically out of nowhere behind Yurio, replied with a little salute to Viktor, making Yurio screech and scramble in the other direction.

“Stay away from me, wench!” Yurio shouted as Mila chased him down and Yakov started shouting somewhere in the distance.

Yuuri looked after them and shook his head, smiling even as he chastised, “Viktor.”

“Oh, they’re having fun, look at them,” Viktor said fondly over Mila calling after Yurio, “I have _orders_ , brat!”

“Uh-huh,” Yuuri said uncertainly.

Viktor shrugged, “Come now, let’s work on our step sequence, we still have to work out a few kinks.”

Yuuri thought “a few kinks” was a pretty generous definition of “neither Yuuri nor Viktor know how to skate while holding onto someone else without catastrophic results” but held Viktor’s hand as he led the way into the first steps.

It was taking longer than Yuuri had expected, skating with a partner, getting used to being in sync with someone. It was harder to get frustrated with the lack of progress, though, than when he skated on his own. He wasn’t sure if it was because he knew that if something happened he wasn’t alone in fixing it or the fact that Viktor had a way of laughing off their collective mistakes and trying again, but he found himself enjoying practice that much more. Yuuri didn’t know that was possible.

But something felt . . . off, lately.

It wasn’t anything truly alarming, Yuuri thought, just small things he’d noticed in Viktor. Like how he frowned more than usual at practice, or mumbled incoherently in Russian over his notes at home.

Or like now, when they turned into their first spin and Yuuri accidentally got too close to Viktor, the toes of their skates tapping just enough to make them stumble.

Instead of Viktor’s usual chuckle and chime of, “Whoops! Sorry, Yuuri,” as he caught Yuuri around the waist to keep them both upright, Viktor frowned and hissed, “Damnit.”

Yuuri was almost startled by the expletive, even though Viktor said it in such a low tone. When he got his feet back under him, gripping his partner’s shoulder, Yuuri looked up at his fiancé, “Viktor?”

Viktor still had his arm around Yuuri’s waist so they were standing face-to-face, but it still took Viktor a second to focus his gaze on Yuuri instead of glaring down at the ice. The older skater blinked, a small smile appearing but doing nothing to put Yuuri’s concern at ease, and Viktor said, “My fault. Sorry.”

Yuuri shook his head, saying slowly, “No, I moved in too far too soon. That one is on me.”

“I keep dropping you,” Viktor murmured as if Yuuri hadn’t said anything.

“And I keep stepping on your toes,” Yuuri said lightly, trying to dispel the weird mood Viktor’s been in, “Why don’t we take a lap? We’ve been at this all morning.”

Viktor just continued to glare down at the ice and their skates as if they hold the answer to all life’s problems. Nevertheless, he nods and lets Yuuri take his hand and lead him over to the wall of the rink (and giving Mila and Yurio a wide berth so as not to disturb their increasingly loud game of tag, the latter having grabbed a squawking Georgi as a human shield). The pinched look never leaves Viktor’s face, though.

Yuuri sets a slow pace around the rink and, though they pass Yakov watching them curiously, the older coach says nothing and lets them be. Absently, Yuuri wonders how many times Yakov has had to deal with a sulky Viktor and the thought of the grumpy coach shouting at Yurio flashes through his mind, bringing a small, amused smile to his face.

A sigh brings Yuuri’s attention back to Viktor, who still seems lost in thought.

Yuuri reaches a hand out and weaves their fingers together, squeezing just a little, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Viktor blinks, first at the ice, then at their hands, his eyes finding Yuuri’s as if surprised he’d noticed his behavior at all. Viktor smiles, as if to distract or take away Yuuri’s concern, but it lacks something of its usual cheer, “Nothing’s wrong, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sighed, quickly losing patience with any kind of run-around Viktor could conjure up, “Viktor. You have been frustrated for a few days now. Don’t lie.”

Viktor frowned a bit but shook his head, “I’m not – “

“Don’t,” Yuuri said firmly, “Just this morning you snapped at Makkachin and it took me twenty minutes to coax her out from under the bed,” Viktor cringed at his bluntness, but Yuuri went on, “Something is obviously bothering you. And I’m pretty sure it’s not poor Makkachin.” He made it sound like a joke but Yuuri knew he was using the proverbial “kicked puppy” to get Viktor to talk.

All the better, if he could finally figure out what was bothering his fiancé so much.

It seemed to be working as Viktor’s fingers flexed in Yuuri’s grip and he returned his gaze to the ice they skated over.

“Is it the program?” Yuuri prompted a little more gently and Viktor let out another sigh.

“Sort of,” Viktor said, seeming far away for a moment, “It’s . . . taking so much longer than usual, I just don’t understand. The difficulty is roughly on par with what we’re both used to, we should be farther along by now.”

Yuuri felt a small knot of guilt twist in his stomach as his thoughts from earlier came back. He’d known it was taking longer but apparently Viktor was taking it a bit more seriously. If Viktor was on his own, he’d probably have perfected over half the program by now.

Yuuri bit his lip and looked down at his skates, about to apologize, when Viktor said quietly, “It’s my fault, I know, I’m sorry. Yurio’s right, I don’t know what I was thinking trying something like this so late in my career.”

Yuuri’s head snapped up at the unexpected (and ridiculous) apology, spluttering, “That’s not – What?”

But Viktor didn’t seem to register Yuuri’s shock, berating himself, “I took an entire _year_ off and then I try to jump right into pair skating? Yakov was right. Why does he always have to be right?”

“Viktor,” Yuuri tried but was cut off.

“It’s not like I’m getting any younger,” Viktor lamented, head falling back to stare mournfully at the rink lights, “’ _Gramps_ ’ indeed. You know, I _groan_ getting out of bed now? Like my _dedushka_.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, because this was a conversation he was familiar with, “Viktor, stop. You’re not old. You’re not even thirty yet.”

“According to everyone I might as well have one foot in the grave as far as being an athlete,” Viktor grumbled, tilting his chin back down and looking at Yuuri pitifully, “At least my _dedushka_ had hair.”

Yuuri sighed but it was fond, “I’ve told you a thousand times, you’re not going bald, you just have a big forehead.”

At that moment Yurio skated by, having lost Mila somehow, twirling on one foot a little as he quipped, “Yeah, and it looks even bigger now that his hairline is receding.”

Viktor whimpered, free hand going to his fringe, but Yuuri was spared having to throttle the younger skater when Mila appeared (again, out of thin air, it was witchcraft of some sort) and yelled, “ _Poimala tebya_ _”_  

Yuuri felt no sympathy as Yurio was hauled screeching into the air, Mila grinning like a cat and started taking a lap around the rink. He pulled his attention away from the spectacle of Yakov shouting at Mila and Georgi cheerfully snapping pictures to look at Viktor seriously, “You shouldn’t listen to Yurio. He only wants to get a rise out of you.”

Viktor let his hand drop from his hair, “Why shouldn’t I? I fully expect to fall and break a hip any day now.”

Yuuri pursed his lips and gently extracted his hand from Viktor’s, holding the other’s surprised gaze after the loss of contact, and skated forward a few steps ahead. When he spun so that he was slowly skating backward in front of Viktor, Yuuri was gratified to see he had the other’s full attention.

“You’re being a drama queen,” Yuuri said bluntly, without preamble. It was a trick he’d learned from Viktor but the other still pouted. Yuuri smiled soothingly and went on, “You are not too old, and I trust both your hips to hold me up when we finally get these lifts perfected.” Yuuri felt silly saying that last part as it sounded like a cheesy pick-up, but it made Viktor smile and he even chuckled a little if only because of Yuuri’s blush.

“And besides,” Yuuri hurried on, cheeks still pink, “This is new for both of us. It’s going to take a little longer to get in sync.” Yuuri glanced down as he said the next part, “And you’re working with someone not exactly on your level.”

Viktor was suddenly much closer to Yuuri, pulling both his hands back into his grip, the two still moving around the rink together as Yuuri met Viktor’s eyes. The Russian was unexpectedly intense, just then, making Yuuri blink in surprise as Viktor said, “That’s not it at all, Yuuri, not at all.”

Yuuri blushed even harder, then, as Viktor stared down at him, forgetting for a moment that they were at practice and that they were only a rink away from several other people.

After a minute, Yuuri cleared his throat and looked down at their joined hands, “I only meant that . . . we have to work on being in sync.” He was repeating himself, but honestly, how could be expected to come up with original thought with Viktor looking at Yuuri like he hung the moon?

Thankfully, Viktor just hummed and smiled, “We’re pretty in sync right now.” He nodded to their hands as they skated slowly around the ice, Yuuri still skating backward as if he was leading Viktor by the hands. Yuuri smiled, too, although he was pretty sure holding hands and moving at a snail’s pace was less than impressive. But –

“It’s a start,” Yuuri replied instead. Then he lifted his head again and looked up at Viktor challengingly, “So, are you going to chicken out on me?”

Viktor laughed, loudly, so that the others looked up in bemusement from across the rink. And then he kissed Yuuri, right on the mouth, with no more warning than it took for him to lean in.

Yuuri made a startled noise in his throat but kissed back, taking it for the answer it was.

The sound of skates moving quickly toward them broke them apart just in time to watch a water bottle fly over their heads and hear Yurio growl, “It’s a _skate rink_ not a cheap porno set!”

Viktor rested his weight on one hip and gave Yurio an unimpressed look, “Yura. Any porno Yuuri and I made would be decidedly high quality.”

Yurio froze, a disgusted look on his face, as Yuuri turned red and sputtered, “V-Viktor, _no_!” and Mila doubled over in laughter.

Viktor just pulled Yuuri away with a genuine smile and they resumed their lap around the rink.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Viktor said again, “I’ll try to relax. Really.”

“It’s fine if you’re frustrated,” Yuuri assured him quickly, “Just tell me so we don’t both end up on our butts. . . . And you still have to make up this morning to Makkachin.”

Viktor stiffened at the last part, hand going to his chest as if in pain, “Oh, my poor baby! I’ll be lucky if she ever speaks to me again!”

“Drama queen,” Yuuri chuckled mater-of-factly.

* * *

It took time (and a considerable amount of tutelage from Mila and _very_ resistant Yurio), but soon enough they got the lifts down.

Yuuri’s only regret was that Viktor was so excited by it that he started lifting Yuuri _everywhere._ At the rink, at home in the middle of the kitchen, the park while they walked Makkachin (who had received an _obscene_ amount of treats lately), and never with any warning. Yuuri would just be walking along then, suddenly, he was in the air.

It would have driven him absolutely insane if he hadn’t figured out he twist _just enough_ in Viktor’s grip to be able to kiss his ridiculous (and surprised) fiancé on the way down.

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow, so much hand holding in this. Well, sorry again that this took so long! You guys have been so awesome in the comments, and thanks to everyone who’s left kudos and bookmarks so far XD

Also, what little Russian I was brave enough to use via Google the great and powerful (feel free to correct me at any given point):

 _Poimala tebya!_ – I caught you! (Thank you floweranza for your comment and the correction, you were super helpful!)

 _Dedushka_ – Grandpa/Grandfather


	5. and the one where they all pay it forward

A/N: *Peeks out from under rock* Hello, and I am sorry for being terrible *puppy eyes* Please enjoy he final chapter! (Finally)

* * *

The sink seemed to blur in and out of focus as Yuuri stared down at it and he wondered briefly if one of his contacts had fallen out. Then he remembered he hadn’t put his contacts in yet and was, in fact, still wearing his glasses.

Must be the anxiety, then. Awesome.

Yuuri took a deep breath through his nose, let it out through his mouth, and tried not to focus on the queasiness in his stomach. He kept it up – breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth, in, out, in, out – and wrapped shaky fingers around the rim of the sparkling clean sink ( _don’t be sick, don’t be sick in this immaculate, expensive bathroom_ ) and leaned over it.

After a few minutes of unhelpful breathing exercises, Yuuri huffed in frustration and reached up to snatch his glasses off his face. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, the church’s bathroom lights suddenly seeming too bright, the ringing in his ears too loud.

He stepped away from the sink to pace, only to stop with one hand on the opposite wall, the other gripping his knee as he doubled over and swallowed several times. He felt hot and cold at the same time, the damn tux Chris stuffed him into getting tighter by the second. (A _white_ tux. _Blindingly white._ Why? Why had he agreed to this and not a traditional black tuxedo that could more easily hide vomit stains?)

Just as Yuuri was seriously thinking about ripping the bow tie from around his neck and flushing it down the toilet, there was a quick, cheery tap at the locked bathroom door and Phichit’s voice coming through, “Yuuri? Look, I get pre-wedding primping, but Chris is getting impatient out there and we _do not_ want to be the reason he falls behind schedule.”

_(“KATSUKI YUURI,” Phichit screamed immediately when Yuuri answered the phone, “What is this I hear from Chris? You’re hiring a PHOTOGRAPHER! For your WEDDING!”_

_“I . . .” Yuuri started, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”_

_“I am your photographer, Yuuri,” Phichit said firmly, “And will not take being insulted so lightly.”_

_Yuuri tried not to laugh as he replied, “Ah, I see,” he cleared his throat, “Please, forgive me Phichit, I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless.”_

_“Damn right you didn’t,” And he hung up.)_

Yuuri’s breath came out in a loud gust of air and he mumbled to himself, “Oh god, I’m gonna throw up.”

“What was that?” Phichit asked through the door, jiggling the handle and voice switching to concern when he found it locked, “Hey, Yuuri, you okay?”

Yuuri put his back to the wall he’d been leaning on and started to slide to the floor. The washroom’s tile floor was scrubbed clean enough to eat off of so at the very least he didn’t have to worry about it staining his tux.

“Yuuri?” Phichit asked again when he was only met with silence.

“No,” Yuuri answered and for a moment it was all he could get out, not knowing if he was trying to say ‘No, I’m not okay’ or ‘No, Yuuri can’t talk right now, this is his Obligatory Existential Crisis speaking, can we take a message?’

There was a pause. Then, “Yuuri, are getting nervous?” Phichit asked and Yuuri held back a scoff.

“Yes,” Yuuri replied instead.

“Good nervous or bad nervous,” Phichit asked tentatively. The silence that followed was palpably sarcastic until Phichit cleared his throat and said, “Sorry, I somehow forgot who I was talking to. Why don’t you open the door, Yuuri? We don’t have to go anywhere until you’re ready but it’s easier to talk without the door.”

That’s funny, Yuuri thought it was a hell of a lot easier talking _with_ the door, head tucked safely in the hollow created by his arms wrapped securely around his knees. Finally, he called back, knowing Phichit was still waiting on him, “I can’t.”

A beat of silence, then, “You can’t unlock the door?”

Yuuri laughed breathlessly, swallowing his nausea, and clenching his eyes shut against the sting of tears that sprang up as he tried to speak, “I can’t do _this_.”

Silence again. Yuuri could practically hear the gears turning in Phichit’s head, the understanding clicking into place. There was a small sigh from the door and it made Yuuri want to cry all the more.

Logically, he knew Phichit probably understood his apprehension. He knew a lot of people got nervous and scared on their wedding day. But a much more ingrained part of him knew he was being judged a coward. Shiftless. Overdramatic.

“Yuuri,” Phichit’s voice comes through carefully, as if he’s weighing his next words, but Yuuri’s mind fills in the second of silence Phichit leaves for him.

_Seriously? After all this, you can’t walk down a damn aisle and eat some cake for the person you claim to love?_

Of course, that’s not what Phichit says, and his friend is saying something now, but at the thought of Viktor Yuuri feels tears break over his cheeks for reasons he honestly couldn’t articulate even to himself. He took a steadying breath and lifted his head from his arms to let it fall back to the wall behind him. He wiped at his eyes, silently thankful he hadn’t let Christophe talk him into the mascara that would have just smudged off onto his crisp, white sleeve just then.

It took him a second to realize Phichit had stopped talking to him through the door. His friend was still speaking but his voice was more muffled and sounded like he’d stepped away if only a little.

“Just give us a few minutes,” Phichit was saying to someone else, Yuuri figured Chris. His chest tightened further, knowing he was keeping _hundreds_ of people waiting.

_(“Honestly, Viktor, the wedding does not have to be a big deal,” Yuuri had said half-heartedly, knowing he’d lost that battle before it even began._

_“Darling Yuuri,” Christophe crooned from over the three-inch binders he and Phichit were comparing, “It’s a_ celebrity wedding _, and if I have my way it will be the headline of the decade.”_

_Viktor just wrapped his arms around Yuuri and cuddled him till Yuuri was red in the face, “And how can I resist showing off my adorable husband to everyone we’ve ever met?”_

_“I’m just saying you don’t need to invite my parent’s gardener from twenty years ago, Viktor, the man is like ninety, it’ll just confuse him.”)_

“Okay,” A muted voice that Yuuri was certain was not Christophe’s drawl said anxiously, “But Chris is getting kinda twitchy and it’s freaking everyone out. Where’s Yuuri?”

“Locked in the bathroom,” Phichit sighed.

The voice got louder as the person stepped deeper into the room and laughed, “Pre-wedding jitters? Never would have guessed with those two, but I get it.”

Ah, it was JJ. Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. JJ was a chaotic good that way.

Before Phichit could answer, there was a loud knock on the door, “Hey, Yuuri! Look, it’s fine to get cold feet! But there’s a lot of people waiting and Viktor’s asking if everything’s okay – Oh! And Chris is totally ready to rampage, I – “

Suddenly, there was a noise like someone being tackled and Yuuri barely registered JJ’s, “Oof!” and Phichit’s hissed, “ _Not. Helping._ ” over his own renewed panicked breathing.

“What? What’d I do?” JJ asked in a whisper and Yuuri wondered later how this church could be so expensive when the walls were paper-thin.

“Look, JJ, I appreciate you checking in, but right now Yuuri needs to calm down so I can get him out of the bathroom – “ Phichit whispered a little frantically only to pause when JJ caught on.

“Oh!” JJ chuckled awkwardly, “Oh, it’s like that, huh? Sorry, didn’t realize.”

“I noticed,” Phichit said, Yuuri listening to his footsteps as he approached the door to his sanctuary again, “Now, if you don’t mind I have to convince him to come out, so – “

“Wait, hang on,” JJ said distractedly, “I think I can help.”

“I’m not confident that’s true,” Phichit said skeptically, then paused, “What . . . What are you doing?”

JJ’s voice was right outside the door when he chuckled again, “And my sister said this was a pointless skill.” There was the sound of clicking and the door handle rattled, distracting Yuuri from his freak-out momentarily.

Phichit confirmed what he was hearing seconds later, “You’re . . . picking the lock?”

“Yep,” JJ said and put an extra _pop_ on the ‘p’ sound, “Always have my kit on me.”

“ . . . Okay, but _why_?” Phichit asked in disbelief.

He didn’t get an answer as the lock clicked and Yuuri’s hopes of maybe drowning himself in the sink in peace were dashed. The door to the bathroom swung open and there stood Phichit and JJ in their suits, the latter still kneeling on the floor and tucking some needle-like objects into a pouch, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face as usual. Phichit stared at the Canadian skater with a mix of surprise and utter bafflement as JJ stood and smirked at him.

_(JJ: Thanks so much for your help, Yuuri! I told Isabella like you said and she totally threw a shampoo bottle at my head!!!_

_Yuuri: Omg, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think she’d react badly, are you okay?_

_JJ: ???_

_JJ: Yeah, I’m fine it was just one of those tiny hotel shampoo bottles?_

_JJ: OH! No, not like that! She was just mad cuz I didn’t tell her sooner and got so worked up. She says I have to tell her these things or she won’t know how to help._

_Yuuri: That’s . . . good?)_

“Anyway,” Phichit muttered and straightened his red jacket as he approached Yuuri as one might a frightened cat. He didn’t say anything at first, just smiled reassuringly as he saw Yuuri wasn’t ready to bolt and sat next to him on the floor close enough their shoulders brushed.

“Hey,” Phichit said softly.

Yuuri let his face drop back to his arms, hoping he didn’t look a complete mess, “Hey.”

Yuuri felt someone flop down on his other side and JJ’s voice in his ear, “What’s up?”

“I’m a disaster and ruin everything around me, that’s what,” Yuuri replied.

“Not helping,” Phichit stage-whispered over Yuuri’s head.

“How could I possibly have known ‘What’s up’ was a divisive question?” JJ hissed at Phichit, then directed his voice to Yuuri, “And you haven’t ruined anything, Yuuri, that’s just the anxiety talking. You know that.”

Phichit blinked like he wasn’t sure how JJ went from annoying to actually useful in such a short span of time but smiled all the same, “I never thought I’d have the opportunity to say this, but . . . JJ is right.”

“Thanks,” JJ muttered, “You’re so kind.”

“We’re helping _Yuuri_ right now, JJ,” Phichit replied.

“I _do_ ruin everything,” Yuuri muttered, not sure if he just wanted to stop them snipping or actually tell them why he was crying on the bathroom floor, “I already knew I was good at sabotaging myself, but now I’m taking Viktor with me.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit said in a tone that reminds Yuuri of his mother.

“You are _way_ too hard on yourself,” JJ pipes with a smile in his voice, “You really need to lighten up, Katsuki.” And Yuuri felt JJ’s elbow dig into his ribs in a brotherly gesture.

( _“Who are you texting, love?” Viktor asked, curiously peeking over Yuuri’s shoulder at his phone._

_“JJ,” Yuuri answered. When he glanced back at Viktor, who had a confused look on his face. “You know, Jean-Jaques Leroy?” His fiancé’s face is blank, “Canadian figure skater? . . . You’ve met him multiple times, Vitya.”_

_Viktor’s eyes shifted to the side as if he were thinking hard, “Oh, him. Of course.”_

_“You have no clue do you?”)_

“You know what would be great?” Phichit asked as if he’d just had a thought, drawing JJ’s attention from trying to coax Yuuri from his hiding spot in his knees, “If someone could run tell Christophe that we may be a little late. JJ do you think - ?”

“Way ahead of you!” JJ sprang up from the floor with energy, “And I’ll do you one better.”

Yuuri peaked up at Phichit as the latter said articulately, “Uhm . . . ”

“Don’t worry, Yuuri,” Yuuri was knocked a little sideways when JJ bend down and patted his shoulder in a way reminiscent of Takeshi, “I’ll make sure you have all the time you need.” JJ hurried back through the door murmuring, “I hope I remembered to pack my guitar . . . Ooh, and Is’ tambourine.”

Phichit watched him go, eyes focusing on something in the middle distance after a moment as he whispered, “What have I wrought upon the world?”

“Actually, that was a pretty good offer,” Yuuri murmured, taking what felt like his first deep breath in hours, “I’d hate to keep everyone waiting. While I sit on a bathroom floor. Like this.”

“You are not allowed to freak out again,” Phichit said firmly, poking a finger in Yuuri’s face, “We will figure this out but I can’t help if you shut down like that.”

Yuuri offered his friend a weak smile and nod even as his nails dug into his pants legs.

Phichit sighed in something like relief and smiled back, saying quietly, “What’s going on, Yuuri? You love Viktor, I thought I’d have to hold you back from running down the aisle, not dragging you down it.”

Yuuri shook his head, looking down at his lap in shame, “I don’t know. I was excited yesterday.” Chris insisted they couldn’t see each other till the wedding and made Viktor stay with him at his hotel room. Viktor made up for the ten-minute distance by texting Yuuri nonstop until they both fell asleep with their phones in their hands. “I can’t explain it, Phichit, I just looked in the mirror and I was in a stupid white tux and I panicked.”

“That sounds like you,” Phichit nodded sagely.

“Hey,” Yuuri gave a weak protest.

Phichit grinned at even the slightest affect from his friend and opened his mouth to retort.

But then the door to their suite was kicked open and bounced off the wall behind it with a very expensive sounding _crash._

“ _KATSUDON_ ,” Yuri Plisetsky’s voice rang unmistakably through the room, echoing off the bathroom tile, “There is a Canadian douchebag fucking _singing_ out there with a damn guitar that _has his initials carved into it_ and it has _your_ dumbass fingerprints all over it! Where are you!”

“And now I shall reap what I have sewn,” Phichit sighed but Yuuri barely heard him over Yurio’s stomping and his own heart speeding up again. He didn’t get nearly as much time out of JJ’s distraction as he was hoping for.

Yurio stormed toward them, ranting over Phichit’s hurried protests, “And Viktor’s looking all constipated because you were supposed to be marching out _ages_ ago and Chris is bitching about scheduling and, oh, did I mention _JJ is fucking singing! And people are clapping for it!_ And – wait . . . Oh, god, are you crying?”

Yurio stopped mid-rant, mid-stride, one leg dangling in the air to stare in horror as Yuuri tried his damnedest to stifle the renewed tears Yurio had unknowingly prodded.

_(“So,” Yurio said as he slouched on the bench next to Yuuri one practice, “You guys still looking for a DJ?”_

_Yuuri looked up in surprise. Yurio rarely, if ever, had input on wedding prep, much less liked to bring it up himself, “Well, Phichit keeps trying to talk us into a band but . . . yes?”_

_Yuri stared at his phone as if he was barely paying attention to what he was saying, “Beka – I mean, Otabek – he DJs. If you’re interested . . . I could show you some of his playlists . . . He’s good . . .”)_

“I told you I’m a disaster,” Yuuri squeaked out to no one in particular before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Phichit rubbed his shoulders and muttered something comforting while glaring daggers of death at the stunned Yurio.

“No, stop that,” Yuri said to Yuuri, hands raised, half-way between angry and panicked, “You’re fine, I just . . . Viktor was actually looking kind of worried so I thought – “ He stopped when Yuuri hiccupped a little at Viktor’s name and the younger looked helplessly at Phichit.

Phichit grit his teeth and tried to explain pointedly, “Yuuri’s got pre-wedding jitters. And for Yuuri, _as you know, Plisetsky,_ jitters usually involve full on melt downs.”

“Oh!” Both Phichit and Yurio’s attention was drawn to Yuuri as his head shot up, but Yuuri went on without notice, having just remembered, “I haven’t even won a gold medal!”

Phichit stared at him for a solid minute before shutting his eyes and saying slowly, “I swear to every god I have ever _heard_ of, if either of you idiots mentions that gold medal again I will break a lifetime commitment of nonviolence so fast . . .”

Yuuri glared at Phichit, about to tell him _he was having a serious problem here_ when Yurio spoke up again.

A tentative, “Katsudon,” made Yuuri blink and look up at the fifteen-year-old standing above him, just to make sure it came from the person he thought it did.

Yurio stood awkwardly for a split second, one hand scratching the back of his neck indecisively before the blonde gracefully folding his legs and joined the two older boys on the floor. Then his jaw clenched and seemed determined all of a sudden.

Phichit and Yuuri shared a glance, and at the very least Yuuri was so focused on whatever Yurio was about to say that he forgot about his fears for the moment.

“Look, Katsudon,” Yuri said as if choosing his words carefully, “If either of you ever tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny and then murder you both mercilessly,” Phichit scooted a little closer to Yuuri, “But, I mean, if this has anything to do with Viktor – you don’t need to worry about that, okay? About him, I mean, he’s – he’s pretty invested.” Yurio paused at the looks on Yuuri and Phichit’s faces, getting frustrated at his ineloquence.

“I mean,” Yurio huffed, hands on his knees as he growled, “It’s like Yakov said a while back. Viktor doesn’t do anything by halves and that includes falling in love, apparently,” the teen looked like he might gag at his next words, “Yakov said the last time he saw Viktor fall as hard as he did for you was when he first learned how to skate.”

Yurio paused again, but this time because the two older skaters were staring in utter astonishment.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Phichit says while wiping invisible tears from his eyes, “That was beautiful.”

Yurio makes a noise like a cat about to bite, but before anything can happen Yuuri lets out a shaky sigh and stands.

Phichit and Yuri scramble up with him, the former asking, “Okay?”

Yuuri nods silently, smoothing out the front of his jacket.

“Are you gonna walk down the aisle sometime this century?” Yurio grumbles but there’s something akin to pride in his undertone.

Yuuri freezes for a moment, swallowing, trying not to psych himself out again. He looks up at his two companions and distractedly realizes he can hear the sound of music somewhere that sounds good, but terribly out of place in this immaculate church.

Yuuri just nods again, but says in a near whisper, “Help?”

It takes a second. But eventually Phichit and Yuri understand, somehow, and Yuri turns to the Thai skater, “You pull, I’ll push?”

“Sure,” Phichit says cheerfully, grabbing Yuuri’s wrists and tugging him out the bathroom door. Yurio gets behind him and starts pushing with a little too much zeal in Yuuri’s opinion, but it’s working so he doesn’t complain.

Yuuri goes along mostly willingly, only having one more moment of panic when the church doors loom in front of him and he hears voices of all their guests and JJ’s singing. The main ceremony was to take place in the churchyard and if Yuuri was at the very least able to appreciate the beautiful weather. Not to mention Christophe’s and Phichit’s hard work.

_(“You know Chris, if the ice-skating thing doesn’t work out for you, you could always become a successful event planner,” Viktor said cheerfully one day while Chris helped them lay out a seating chart._

_Chris shot Viktor a look and replied sarcastically, “_ Merci beaucoup mon ami! _Your confidence in me as a competitor is_ astounding _.”_

_“What?” Viktor looked between Chris and a giggling Yuuri, “It was a compliment!”)_

“Yuuri?” Phichit said uncertainly, giving Yuuri’s hands a little squeeze, “You ready?”

The guests couldn’t see them from where they were standing just inside the door, which was a blessing for Yuuri. He could feel Yurio standing at his back and hear his foot tap impatiently, but ignored it to take a steadying breath and nod to Phichit, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Awesome,” Yurio muttered and apparently that was all the permission he needed to plant his hands in Yuuri’s back and start shoving him out the door, toward that ever so intimidating center aisle between rows and rows of guests. Yurio mumbled a string of Russian the whole way and Yuuri once caught ‘gotta deal with another dumbass’ over his panicked squeaks of protest.

Once Yurio had deposited him at the end of the aisle and garnered several concerned glances (and barely concealed laughter – thanks, Takeshi – before Yuuko smacked him in the arm) the younger skater gracelessly stormed back to his place at the front, in line behind Viktor.

And, _oh._

Phichit had left his side at some point, running to find the camera he brought, that was not, for once, his phone. Yurio yells something at JJ that no one hears until JJ is interrupted by Christophe whispering in his ear. JJ spots Yuuri still frozen at the end of the aisle, smiles, and nods to Chris, the song he’s playing changing seamlessly from a rock ballad to the wedding march. Yuuri’s father is sitting on his knees in his chair snapping pictures, the triplets crowded behind him doing the same, while his mother wipes at her eyes. Makkachin’s tail wags, tongue lolling out under her flower crown as Minami bounces next to him, holding the leash.

_(“So, Minami-kun,” Yuuri said casually over the skype call, “We kind of needed someone to help walk Makka down the aisle – Uh, she’s the ring-bearer, you see – and watch her during the wedding and we were wondering if you’d like to – “_

_“I would die for you, Senpai,” Minami said tearfully through the connection._

_“ . . . Uhm.”_

_“I mean, I would be honored to be your co-ring-bearer with Makkachin,” Minami back-tracked swiftly.)_

And it’s all essentially lost on Yuuri. Because Viktor is looking at him like he might just run down the aisle to meet Yuuri instead of the other way around.

So, Yuuri goes to meet him before Viktor jumps out of his matching white tux, smiling a little giddy himself, even as Mari wolf-whistles in time with Minako-sensei.  

His hands were still shaking when Viktor reached out to take them. Yuuri met his eyes apologetically as the officiator began his greeting but Viktor just grinned broader.

Too low for anyone other than Yuuri to hear, Viktor whispered, “Nervous?”

Yuuri let out a shaky sigh and nodded, “Just a little. I-I’m okay.”

Viktor squeezed both of Yuuri’s hands in his, still smiling, thumbs running over Yuuri’s knuckles soothingly. Viktor’s thumb lingered over the gold band on Yuuri’s right hand, smoothing over it several times before leaning forward a fraction of an inch and whispering just as low, “It’s all right, love, I’m here for you. Always.”

Yuuri stared up at Viktor’s smiling eyes, the officiator’s voice fading into a dull drone, their family and guests momentarily forgotten. Yuuri felt tears build behind his eyes and he shut them so they wouldn’t spill over, not yet.

Viktor held his hands, secure, like he’d never let go, no matter how much they shook. Yuuri tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, for once not there because of his fear, but for how happy he was he might burst.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice broke through to him and Yuuri’s eyes flew open as he remembered he never responded.

“I’m here for you, too,” Yuuri blurted, hands wrapping around Viktor’s and holding just as tight.

Viktor blinked at him in confusion even as his lips ticked up at the corners.

Yuuri’s eyes widened as tittering laughter reminded him where they were, standing in front of everyone they knew, the officiator staring at Yuuri in utter bewilderment.

“I – I mean,” Yuuri sputtered, cheeks heating and eyes going to the officiator questioningly, “I do?”

The man just smiled as if he were holding back laughter and nodded kindly, turning to Viktor next as the rest of those gathered got their giggles under control.

Viktor grinned at Yuuri as well, though knowingly as he repeated, “I do.”

And it suddenly felt hard to breathe again.

When the officiator told them to kiss, Yuuri still blushed madly like he knew he would, but as Viktor leaned down, Yuuri’s arms acted of their own accord, flinging up around Viktor’s neck.

Viktor made a surprised noise as Yuuri kissed him, but it was swallowed by Yuuri’s lips and the whoops and cat-calls from Mari and Minako and Yurio’s screech of disgust. Not to be out-performed, Viktor lifted Yuuri by the waist and spun until they were too busy laughing to kiss.

Viktor only stopped when a very well-aimed, balled-up program smacked him in the back of the head. Yuuri laughed as Viktor shot an affronted look behind him at a glowering Yakov, sitting in the front row next to Lilia trying very hard to hide her smile behind her own program.

“You’re not done yet, Vitya,” Yakov growled over even more murmured giggles from the gathered and pointed to the officiator.

Viktor blinked and looked back at the officiator, the poor man more helplessly bemused than ever.

To his credit, the man just shrugged and said loud and clear, “By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you married.”

Hand-in-hand they walked back down the aisle as everyone stood, clapping, Yakov and Yuri doing their damnedest to look grouchy, Yuuri’s family wiping their eyes and Phichit running to the end of the aisle to snap pictures. Mila appeared from somewhere in the rows of chairs to throw a handful of glitter she’d obviously been saving for just such an occasion, covering Yuuri, Viktor and half the guests gathered behind them.

Makkachin got off the leash at some point, Minami yelling after her as she ran after the newlywed couple. She shot past Viktor and Yuuri, the former giving chase as the poodle made a beeline for the reception area and the cake her flower crown flying off.

“Makachin, no!” Viktor yelled after the wayward dog as the guests laughed again, “Remember the steamed buns! You’re better than this!”

Yuuri laughed as Viktor dragged him along, never once letting go of his hand.

* * *

A/N: To be honest, I feel like Viktor would be the second to walk down the aisle just so he could #MakeAnEntrance and b/c “Hello, I am Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki’s trophy husband” but for the sake of the story, let’s pretend.

There was a lot more I wanted to write about the Viktuuri wedding but this was already taking so long, the rest may just be a bonus chapter . . . maybe . . . no one hold their breath, you’ll die, and I can’t have that on me . . .

Anyway, sorry again that this took so long, hope you enjoyed it all the same!


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